


fogoso

by yucee



Category: The Legend of Zelda: Hyrule Warriors, The Legend of Zelda: Skyward Sword, The Legend of Zelda: Twilight Princess
Genre: Cuddling, Hurt/Comfort, I had absolutely no idea what to rate this, M/M, they hold hands and bicker there I summarized it for you, veryyy briefly but they cuddled so I'm still tagging it
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-26
Updated: 2016-05-26
Packaged: 2018-07-10 06:48:27
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,367
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6970624
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/yucee/pseuds/yucee
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Ghirahim’s voice came from somewhere to his right, infuriatingly amused, "You know, I don't know whether or not to feel insulted that you've mistaken a drab wall for my exquisite self. …Well, when I word it like that, yes, I am. I’m very insulted."</p><p>Zant whirled around at Ghirahim snapping his fingers. "I can't see!" he screeched.</p><p>"...What? You must be joking."</p>
            </blockquote>





	fogoso

**Author's Note:**

> Fogoso (adj.)  
> Ardent or fiery, passionate, spicy.
> 
> please forgive me and all the billions of headcanons that appear in this

It had been only a week after they'd reclaimed the Gerudo Desert for their master. Quite oddly, Ganondorf had made himself relatively scarce in the days that followed. The only time Zant or Ghirahim saw him was during brief meetings. In fact, Zant hardly even saw Ghirahim around. Not that he'd been particularly looking for Ghirahim, but his absence along with their master's was difficult to ignore.

Two days. It had been two days.

"Hello there, Zant. Might I perhaps come in?"

So finding Ghirahim at his door wasn't the first thing he would've expected, but there he was. There he was, not a hair out of place at his door with his left hand posed behind his back. Zant regarded him very briefly, his fingers curling in consideration. Ghirahim had caught him at an inopportune moment, and as dark eyes searched his face, he had half a mind to summon his helmet.

But something stopped him. Something he couldn't quite understand or explain.

"You've been missing for two days. You're lucky our master has been so busy, or he'd be furious with you."

Ghirahim shrugged off Zant's cold tone as he nonchalantly continued, "Yes, yes, but, tell me, do you have any knowledge on...light world confections?”

Confections? Affections?

“No?” Zant’s voice was unintentionally higher in pitch than he would have liked, but Ghirahim somehow glossed over it.

“I’d expected as much." Ghirahim's tone was polished, such a massive contrast to Zant's own. "Well, if you’d allow me, I’d like to take the time to show you some.”

Ghirahim couldn't possibly know the implications of such a thing, but nevertheless, Zant was silent as he studied him. Sharing food was reserved for courting rituals. For people you liked. Not people you teased every so often on the battlefield, much less your fellow commander. It was unprofessional, to say the very least.

"No? That's a shame." Ghirahim's airy tone told Zant all he needed to know - the implications flew right over his head.

With one of his unique flourishes, Ghirahim presented an oddly diamond-shaped red box that was twice the size of his hand to Zant. Zant tilted his head and studied the box rather than the contents inside. Parts of this definitely rang true to courting rituals. However, Ghirahim had a peculiar set of aesthetics that existed well beyond Zant’s understanding.

"To be quite frank, I found that I obtained too many of these," Ghirahim continued on, his silken tone piercing the tense atmosphere between them. "Rather than letting them go to waste, I've decided to share them with you. Is that really such a bad thing, especially after all the trouble I went through to get them? Won't you indulge me for a bit?"

Well, if he considered it in greater detail, who else would Ghirahim share these so called ‘confections’ with? Their master likely wouldn’t be open to such frivolous things. He was likely busy planning for their next move. He was simply too busy for distractions, whereas Zant was decidedly more present.

Unfortunately, Zant was decidedly more present, and Ghirahim seemed relentless as ever. Zant reluctantly gave in. "If what you're saying is true, fine, I'll indulge you."

Zant stepped back out of the doorway, and Ghirahim took the invitation to heart, stepping inside as if the place were his own.

"Marvelous! Perhaps one of these days I'll get you to stop being so tense all the time. Just because you're a king doesn't mean you're not allowed a little fun. You know, aside from the battlefield. Don’t think I haven’t caught your gleeful giggling as you slaughter our enemies.”

Despite his best efforts, Zant stiffened. Nobody was supposed to notice that! Nobody was supposed to see his manic fits in battle! Though, he should've figured it was inevitable, what with how sharp Ghirahim's eye was.

Rather than give in to the bait, Zant persistently kept his gaze to the box Ghirahim still held. "...What do you mean by confections?"

"They're sweet. You know, sweets? Desserts?" At Zant's bewildered expression, Ghirahim shook his head in disapproval. "...Tell me, do you even have sugar where you're from?"

"We don't even an equivalent for that word," Zant admitted as he plucked one from the box.

"Ah, you twili must live an awful life." For a moment their eyes caught, but Ghirahim mirthfully continued, "Either way, hylians love them. Instead of asking me, why not try one yourself? I know I'm quite gifted with words, but... Actions speak louder."

Zant was silent as he pondered the object he held between his pointer finger and his thumb. Something red hot flared in him. Hot, as hot as his eyes. He was very, very tempted to tell Ghirahim just how right he was, but...

He remembered tense dinners, terse words, rage, rage beyond all comprehension bubbling forth. He remembered having emotions his kind weren't used to anymore, emotions he was shunned for having. He remembered scrambling away. He remembered the shame, the overflowing shame coupled with it. He remembered--

Zant grinded his teeth. No. This wasn't the time or the place.

This was just one of Ghirahim's games, wasn't it? Everything seemed to point down to it. He considered flipping the box right out of Ghirahim's hand. His left hand twitched, more than ready for the motion, but something about Ghirahim's expression kept him tied.

So with a heavy sigh Zant brought the 'confection' up to his lips and took a bite.

Instantly rage evaporated, and he brought both hands to the box. He barely made out Ghirahim's appreciative chuckle as he took the box into his own hands. The taste was nothing like Zant had ever experienced, so overpowering that it chased everything away. This, this is something he needed all along. Perhaps if his people had had this...

"Hmm? Are you crying?" Zant adamantly shook his head, but Ghirahim still chuckled. "That's quite alright. I'm glad you enjoy them! It's nice to see all my efforts didn't go to waste."

Zant's gaze snapped to Ghirahim for a moment. Why did Ghirahim make it sound like he deliberately bought these for him? Ghirahim offered him a smirk in return, but Zant didn't press it. Ghirahim obviously didn't understand his customs.

 _Obviously._ There's no way Ghirahim would ever try courting him even if he did know, either. Why would he?

Unprofessional. Simply, positively unprofessional.

Utter complete nonsense.

"If you're wondering, these in particular are called chocolates." Ghirahim sounded positively delighted. Suspiciously delighted...

But Zant couldn't take much notice of it. The chocolate called out to him, sticky on his fingers, friendly against his tongue. Around the tenth chocolate he caught Ghirahim clearing his throat. He glanced down at Ghirahim in confusion, chocolate smeared across his lips and a hand poised to claim yet another.

"While I'm positively delighted you love the chocolates, you've seemed to have forgotten a key detail: getting them didn't come easy." Ghirahim snapped his fingers, and his cold finger swiped along the corner of Zant's mouth to gather a bit of chocolate. "So, take some care and eat them slower."

Before Zant could even marvel at Ghirahim licking his finger, he brought the next chocolate up to his mouth.

_Crunch._

Zant stopped in mid-bite. Against his better judgement, he swallowed. Perhaps there were different kinds of chocolate? No.

Ghirahim, already slightly blurry from all Zant's happy tears, became completely muddled. He looked somewhat close to when he used his teleportation magic, except for diamonds, he appeared more like circles. Circles that ever so slowly alternated between a single orb around chest level--

Zant dropped the box with a hiss and immediately brought his hands to his mouth. Heat was radiating from it, needle sharp, bringing out a high-pitched whine. He ran his tongue around, but unfortunately that only made the feeling radiate further.

What had Ghirahim done?

Tracking Ghirahim seemed impossible, near unthinkable, but he tried following the specks. His fingers dug into his cheeks, and an unearthly howl left him. Yet, it didn't deter Ghirahim much.

Ghirahim’s voice came from somewhere to his right, infuriatingly amused, "You know, I don't know whether or not to feel insulted that you've mistaken a drab wall for my exquisite self. …Well, when I word it like that, yes, I am. I’m _very_ insulted."

Zant whirled around at Ghirahim snapping his fingers. "I can't see!" he screeched.

"...What? You must be joking."

Ghirahim had the nerve to sound shocked, and Zant had just enough nerve to snarl in return.

How could Ghirahim possibly think he was the type to joke about such things? Why would rubbing his hands over his face be anything but deathly serious? Despite the gigantic hands he displayed in battle, he bore little pride for the ones actually attached to him. To display them so fully and freely was more so a life or death situation.

Which, in fact, it very much was. If he permanently lost his sight, he'd have little use to their master. What happens to someone once they become useless? They die. He'd be dead, and it would all be Ghirahim's fault!

"What did you do to me? What did you put in the chocolate?!"

"Calm yourself! It was a pepper. It was meant as a _joke._ How could possibly _eating_ something affect your _sight_ of all things?"

Zant didn’t have time let alone the right mental state to explain such things. It was as if someone had plunged hot pokers into his eyes. Remnants of the pepper had seeped into his heat pits, and no matter how much he rubbed at them, the pain only seemed to worsen. Had it also gotten on his fingers? Oh, that would explain why.  
  
"I can't calm down!" Zant could hardly speak, but his voice kept rising and rising in pitch. He was uncertain if the wetness streaming down his cheeks and chin was drool or tears. Perhaps both. Unseemly, unseemly, disgusting, disgusting, a king would never--  
  
Zant could barely feel it, but Ghirahim or something was touching his arms. He violently pushed him aside and stumbled backwards, but he tripped over something. What could possibly have tripped him? Before he hit the floor, however, Ghirahim had grabbed him by his wrist and tugged him back to his feet.  
  
Disoriented even more, he tried pushing Ghirahim away, but he held him firm. As Ghirahim's hold shifted to his shoulders, he could feel himself being lead somewhere. He kept falling every few steps to the point where Ghirahim resorted to holding his wrist instead. How unseemly.  
  
"I don't possibly know how a pepper of all things could mess with your sight,” Ghirahim went on, his dismissive tone only fueling fire to Zant’s tears. “It wasn't even a particularly hot one."  
  
"Do you really think this is a joke?!" Zant could barely see him as he blinked away tears. Ghirahim appeared as a white ethereal blob with specks of red at the very best.  
  
What mocking expression was Ghirahim wearing this time? It didn't matter, it didn't matter, he'd never get to see Ghirahim's face nor anything else after this-- Zant stilled. No, not seeing Ghirahim's face again wouldn't mean much.  
  
Ghirahim had apparently led him to his bed, because he sat down on something soft that creaked beneath him. Gloved hands cupped his face, and Zant hiccupped as Ghirahim examined him. What exactly did Ghirahim intend to do? Zant tried shaking his head again to get out of Ghirahim's grasp, but just as before, Ghirahim held him still.  
  
“At the very least stay still so I can see what’s wrong with you. You’re more annoying than when a Manhandla splits itself into pieces.”

“I already told you what’s wrong! I can’t see, and it’s all your fault!” Zant’s shrill tone pierced his quarters, and Ghirahim dug his fingers worse in return.  
  
Ghirahim released Zant, and he fell onto his bed. He hopelessly stared up at the flickering specks that supposedly represented the ceiling. He heard a sigh and just barely made out a white blob hovering over him. Ghirahim. Right. He was dead, he was dead, he was _so_ dead—

"...Sit up.” At Zant’s blubbering, Ghirahim pressed on, “I need you at least sitting up for this. I can't risk you choking. You’re already drooling and spitting enough as it is."  
  
Ghirahim didn't give him much of a choice on the matter, because a hand searching out for his waist and another on his shoulder yanked him upwards again. If Ghirahim didn't stop manhandling him... He was only making it worse, the white blob representing him flashing between his two senses. Ghirahim’s form was a diamond-shaped blob one moment and a series of specks the next. Not exactly the most pleasant of experiences.  
  
"Here, I need you to drink this," Ghirahim said slowly and firmly, as if he were speaking to an infant.  
  
With an implied insult like that, it was no wonder Zant was attempting to push him away. Regardless of how much Zant pushed at his shoulders, Ghirahim refused to budge. Instead, his other hand had clamped down on his shoulder to hold him in place.

Ghirahim tsk’ed and insistently brushed something cold against his lips. How was he supposed to trust anything Ghirahim offered him? He was definitely meaning to finish the job! How else could he be so calm?  
  
"No!"  
  
"Zant." The cold object slowly retreated from his lips. "I can't possibly know your reasoning behind it, but it's not like I'm poisoning you."  
  
"But you already did!" It took all of Zant’s meager control to keep from shaking his head. Every movement earned him another searing, stabbing sensation. The last thing he needed was to contribute.  
  
"Peppers aren't _poisonous."_ Yet Ghirahim’s tone most certainly was.  
  
"Then explain why everything hurts and all you are is a series of white and red specks! I'm losing my sight, and all you're doing is making fun of me--"  
  
"I'm trying to help you now," Ghirahim said just as slowly. "Would you let me help you cool down? If you truly believe I've poisoned you, then what I'm trying to offer you is like an antidote."  
  
"How am I possibly supposed to trust you?"  
  
"Zant, the mere concept of me poisoning you is simply preposterous. I _need_ you. Our master needs you. Killing you would be akin to suicide. Now open up your weird mouth and drink this milk. I observed that it helps in cases like these, and you'd be wise to do as I say."  
  
Zant tried snarling again, but all the saliva and tears sliding down his face made it sound like sobbing. "How can I trust you when you have the nerve of treating me like a child? If you truly thought I was that foolish--"  
  
Ghirahim cut him off by holding his chin, pushing his lips apart, and tilting the bottle against his lips. Zant took note of its coolness soothing the burn, but he'd been too shocked to swallow it. On reflex Zant had spat it out. Judging by Ghirahim's hiss, he'd perhaps hit him.  
  
"You insufferable tree, I'm tempted to just leave you here, but I can't. So you have no choice but to trust me and make this faster on the both of us. If you would just behave..."  
  
Hanging his head to the side, Zant slowly licked at his lips. They had cooled a small bit, but Ghirahim remained as he was. He screwed his eyes shut in an attempt to right himself. "...Fine, but just know if you poison me, it's not just me who will pay."  
  
"Well, at least you're seeing _some_ sense."  
  
The lip of the bottle pressed against his lips again, and Zant fumbled before placing his hands over Ghirahim's own. He heard Ghirahim faintly exhale, but now wasn't the time to focus on his shame or wonder what was going on in Ghirahim’s head. Trembling, he closed his eyes again and opened his mouth. There, only one sense to focus on. That and Ghirahim's sleek gloved fingers.  
  
Zant sipped at the milk. Ghirahim made no attempts to pull his hand back. He was surprisingly complacent to it all. Ghirahim was right about one thing, at least: the burning sensation slowly left. Sharp pangs turned to pin needle pricks, and his hold on Ghirahim’s hand slackened.

Zant opened his eyes. Oh. Oh no. Ghirahim appeared just as before, a series of flashing splotches. He couldn’t even appreciate Ghirahim not lying about the pain subsiding, not when death loomed over their heads. Zant shuddered, and his hands fell to his knees.  
  
"...Ghirahim." Zant attempted to speak, but his voice shamefully floated away from him.  
  
"Well? Have you finally come to your senses? You should really keep in mind just how lucky you are to have a demon lord looking after you."  
  
Zant shook his head, and try as he might, his voice trembled as he spoke, "It hurts. It still hurts! Not as much, but I still can't see! And here you are still mocking me!"  
  
“Fine. You’re really trying my patience, but if you’re truly this distraught, I have no choice but to calm you down. Come, lay down."

Ghirahim didn't give him much of a choice. He pushed Zant down on the bed, and for a moment he swore all he could see was white. He was aware of some tugging and pulling before his head landed on his pillow.

"You weigh next to nothing, you know that?" This time Ghirahim's voice came from his left. Too close. Was he perhaps laying down beside him?

“Marvelous. I’m so thrilled with this knowledge. Tell me, _demon lord,_ have you ever comforted anyone in your entire life?”

Ghirahim’s maniacal laughter was enough of an answer. Before he could focus on how grating it was, though, Ghirahim grabbed his hand. His mind boiled down to the sensations alone, Ghirahim’s fingers brushing against the back of his palm, his thumb blindly running along his knuckles.

Unnervingly, Ghirahim didn't say anything. Either that or Zant’s hearing had left him along with his sight. But he doubted it-- Ghirahim was so close that he would’ve at least felt the vibrations of his voice. Vibrations, sensations were just fine. Maybe they shouldn’t have been fine, though.

* * *

After what seemed ages, Ghirahim’s rueful voice broke the silence between them. His hold on Zant’s hand had loosened, but the only way Zant could possibly make him stop swiping his thumb was by lacing their fingers together. As strange as it was, perhaps having a literal tether to reality had calmed him a tad.

At the very least, Zant was focused on one sensation alone...even though it belonged to the person who'd brought about the situation in the first place.

"Admittedly, I didn't fully think this through."  
  
"…Really now."  
  
"Quiet. I didn't take into account your kind's...peculiarities. You never let on that you see through your mouth. How does that even work?"

“Fine, I’ll explain very briefly: I have two methods of sight." Even with his best efforts, Zant sounded out of breath. It was as if squeezing Ghirahim's hand was squeezing the air out of his lungs. Still, he stubbornly continued, "One likely the way you know, and the other that allows me to see within the safety of my helmet. Perhaps if we survive I’ll explain in greater detail.”

“Why thank you. I feel so informed.”  
  
“Ghirahim, I am going to die if I don't see again. You will likely die as well. Our master is not a kind man. Does this really not scare you?"  
  
"You're not going to die. This will probably pass in an hour or so."  
  
“I remember his words quite clearly, Ghirahim. Anyone who isn’t of use to our master perishes one way or another, either by our master’s hands or by another’s…who he has likely arranged to do so for him. You, I presume?”  
  
“Listen, I went through all that effort to calm you down!” Zant felt the bed shift a bit, and Ghirahim was presumably hovering over him again. “Are you trying your hardest to make me scared?”  
  
“No, but I would like it if you showed any awareness to how severe this is.”  
  
"I know how severe you're making it out to be, and you're wrong!" Ghirahim squeezed his hand rougher, as if a little pressure would change the situation.  
  
"What if I'm not?" Zant asked tiredly, his voice cracking with fatigue.  
  
"That's impossible! Perhaps... Perhaps you should rest a bit. You're tired from all your crying and sniveling, right?"  
  
"...You're looking for a chance to escape, aren't you?"  
  
"I'm not going anywhere. I will remain right here on this pillow watching your melodramatic self until your sight returns."  
  
Zant rolled his eyes and immediately grimaced. Wrong choice, because it felt as if he'd been jabbed right in the eyes with several of Ghirahim's daggers. So the effects weren’t fully gone. He reached up with his free hand and meant to rub at his face, but before he could Ghirahim grabbed his hand and slammed it down against the pillow.  
  
"No rubbing,” Ghirahim chided him. “You still have it on your fingers, remember?"  
  
"All my 'sniveling' has me itchy. What do you intend for me to do?"  
  
There was half a beat, then Zant felt Ghirahim raising his hand. Feeling Ghirahim's breath against his fingers, he immediately drew back...and slammed against the wall. Ghirahim's depraved laughter filled the space between them, and Zant bristled until Ghirahim squeezed his hand. Zant did his best to keep from shuddering as he settled back down on his pillow.

"I expected as much."  
  
"If you _expected_ , then why?"  
  
"Because, despite tonight, you're one of the most entertaining people I've ever met. Take that however you will."  
  
Zant could hardly dignify Ghirahim with a response. Like Ghirahim had said, he had grown tired after all his screaming and crying. Everything gradually faded around him, and comforting shadows lulled him to sleep. If he’d more paid attention, he would have heard Ghirahim beginning to hum a light tune.

* * *

The next time Zant opened his eyes, he didn't see a white blob. He could quite clearly make out Ghirahim's face, but he found his voice was lodged in his throat. He made out Ghirahim’s exasperated expression, the dark purple underneath his eyes, the hollows of his cheeks, the stark white lipstick against gray skin— He could make out everything, and he almost wished he couldn’t.

If Ghirahim attempted speaking, Zant most certainly wouldn’t hear him. He felt as if he were pinned to the spot, despite Ghirahim's stare not being piercing in the slightest. In fact, Ghirahim looked as if he were tired himself, his eyes half-lidded, his hand only faintly squeezing Zant's hand back. Maybe that's what had Zant's heart seize up- the fact that he'd never seen Ghirahim look this vulnerable.

Without all his senses clouded and everything pieced back together, he could make out how Ghirahim smelled. Faintly metallic with a hint of spice. Not that Zant could pinpoint which spice in particular. It was unusually pleasant and a completely different kind than whatever a pepper was. Still hot but peculiarly sweet at the same time.

He could make out Ghirahim’s now wry grin. He could already make out Ghirahim squeezing his hand, but he hadn’t known the expression he made during it. He could make out the black diamond on his cheek—He hadn’t ever seen the left side of Ghirahim’s face before, and that was what he focused on the most. Wait, no.

What he actually focused on most of all was the fact that Ghirahim’s other hand was quite clearly on his waist, while his own was wrapped around Ghirahim. They had clearly been cuddling! Why had Ghirahim agreed to it? Why was he being so agreeable throughout all of this?

‘I _need_ you.’ Oh.

 _'_ It's nice to see all my efforts didn't go to waste.' _Oh._

Zant’s fingers skittered across Ghirahim’s waist while Ghirahim’s simply dug into his robes’ fabric. He was painfully aware of every movement Ghirahim made, from his cold hands to his feet rubbing against just above his ankles. He stared, transfixed, uncertain of where to proceed. Ghirahim's touches didn't seem like anything more than an afterthought.

Unfortunately, before Zant could fully decide, Ghirahim sat up. Zant rolled over on his back and watched him, his heartbeat hammering in his ears. Zant found himself oddly missing the contact, despite them still holding hands. His eyes widened, and he couldn't keep the shock out of his expression as Ghirahim glanced over at him.

“Based on how you’ve been ogling my beautiful face, I can only assume all is right again.” On cue, Ghirahim ran a hand through his hair. Was he covering up the left side of his face? What sense did that make?

Ghirahim was actually allowing him time to answer for once. “Yes,” Zant nearly croaked, “you were right after all.”

“Well, I suppose I should go now and ready myself for when you tell our master how I tricked you. No doubt he’ll take it out on me.” Ghirahim's tone was rather droll, just enough to make Zant’s lips press into a thin line.

Still, Ghirahim made to leave, but Zant clutched at his other hand. His heart nearly skipped at Ghirahim’s questioning stare. “…I won’t tell him.”

“Oh. How nice.”

“You could at least _pretend_ to be grateful.”

Zant stilled when Ghirahim hovered over him for the third time that night. He felt as if he might seep through the mattress under his stare. Ghirahim cupped his face and murmured, "I am. I'm very thankful you've stopped crying- it didn't suit your lovely face."

“What?” Zant’s voice hung low in his throat, nothing more than a choked whisper.

Ghirahim took advantage of Zant’s slackened hold and stood. Zant could hardly track his movements from the invisible weight crashing down upon him. In the waning candlelight, he caught Ghirahim’s hooded stare. Oh.

“Goodnight, Zant. May you have sweet dreams..." Ghirahim's expression became unreadable, and his voice hauntingly lowered as he finished, "...and let’s never speak of this ever again.”

**Author's Note:**

> I would like to think bakkat for being so patient with me while writing this! without her encouragement and advice, I definitely never would’ve written this at all. I also wanna thank volcanicfires for their beautiful, beautiful compliments when showing them my wips! I’m still crying. I also also wanna thank demonkin-g for their input and also the title! Oh also the fanart of a later part of this mess! I also also also want to thank escaping-rapture for saying sweet things about my dumb wips
> 
>  **Suggested titles hall of fame:** Boy he bout to do it - the pepper tale and I Didn't Want to Set Your Mouth on Fire, I Just Wanted to Start a Flame in Your Heart
> 
> this is actually part of a series! I have three other parts written, but I can’t post them yet because they need editing. also if you wanna talk to me about ghirazant, my tumblr is the same as my username. (please talk to me about ghirazant)


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